Goin' home with Batman
by lastcrazyhorn
Summary: Just a daydream I had. Almost a reader insert, except character has backstory. 2nd person. I have no idea why I wrote this. Refs to sexual abuse. Explicit language.


You're used to cold nights where ya feel like noddin' off is just another excuse to die.

You're used to feeling your spine press up against the backside of your stomach as you dig through nasty ass dumpsters, just to have something to chew on, something to put in your body as it runs on nothing.

You're used to seein' ol' Batman swingin' through the nights, pickin' his figure out amongst the many gargoyles of Gotham. You've heard the stories-who hasn't? Bats doesn't kill. But you try something wi' him, and he'll crack you in half so bad your own ma won't recognize you.

Not that _your_ ma would recognize you anywho, but that's beside the point.

You've heard that he's friends with the Commish, that regular cop-types can't make their deals without keeping an extra eye out for him, that anyone who's anyone has met and duked it out with him at least once.

You've heard that regular scum run from his shadow, that even the big guns'll hesitate to take him on without back-up, or at least armor piercing bullets

None of that changes your mind when his sleek ride parks itself on your very own turf, and the man vacates to get real personal with some of the scum there.

You know from former experience that his ride is electrified, that if you touch it for longer than a second, it feels like your eyeballs are roasting from the inside out.

Lucky for you, there's a good supply of old cruddy tires you have free access to. One of which is rolling down the alleyway as you think, and which-after half a dozen failed attempts-is now sitting atop Bat's car like some kind of wayward hood ornament.

You have a theory, you hope to god that it's worth something, 'cause either it's gonna work, or you're gonna be in a world of hurt.

Which, come to think of it, might be happenin' anyway, given that you've successfully found your perch atop _his_ car, cross legged on an old tire that's likely older than you and sis combined.

He pauses as he comes back to his vehicle. A definite blink and a cock of the bat head that nearly has you snortin' at how unlikely a pose it is.

"You ought to be home," Is his growled response to your position.

"Well, you standin' in it. Hard to sleep with all the commotion you makin' with your engine and your fists."

You ain't scared. Well, maybe a bit. But you've heard the Bats has a soft spot in his heart for kids, and a kid is definitely you.

Another blink.

"Where's your mom? Dad?" His voice is softer now, and it makes you want to grin, 'cept for the question.

"Ma told me ta get. So I got. She said if I didn't, then Da'd be stickin' his thing in me next, just like my sis," You spit out.

Maybe you're trying to shock him. Can't hurt. At this rate, old man's prolly gonna try to stick ya in a home, but you ain't goin' there. Hell no.

Bat's lips thin and he frowns.

"How long ago was that?"

"Dunno. Two, three years. I ain't looked back. Day that Da got out of Blackgate was the day that my sis hung herself. Ma said he'd be goin' for me next. I tolds her that I'd slice 'em off and feed it to him 'til he choked!" You hiss, foldin' your arms and straightenin' up as big as you'll go.

Which ain't much.

"You can't live out here."

"Well I ain't livin' in no fuckin' home. Been there. Done that."

"Why?" His voice is _much_ less like the sound of rock being crushed over glass.

He sounds kind of human.

You glare at him anyway.

"Ain't livin' in a _place_ that acts like a home on the _outside_ , while treatin' me and other kids like fuckin' prisoners. Them places treat ya nice for the social worker, and then soon as they've turned they backs, them people have you strung up like a rat, chained to your bed wit' no hope o' leaving. 'Cept school, which is a crock. 'Cause you smart, them _home_ people beat ya for cheatin', but you dumb, god fuckin' help you, 'cause you ain't doin' enough, you ain't tryin' enough, you makin' the home peeps look bad 'cause you failin'."

He takes another step toward you, hands open as if to say he's not a threat, and you feel like snortin', 'cause if anyone's a threat, it's _him_. But maybe that's why you're sittin' on his fuckin' car, in the middle of Gotham's winter, in the middle of the damn night, freezin' your ass off.

"What's your name?" Bat's voice is soft, like he doesn't want to be overheard by anyone 'round.

You don't bother to tell him that no one gives a rat's ass about you. They're probably havin' a good ol' laugh even, thinkin' you're about to get your tail whupped.

"The Reader," You tell him, juttin' your chin out, darin' him to make fun.

"Why do they call you that?"

Man's good, you gotta admit.

"'Cause I read a whole damn lot," You answer, shoving your fingertips farther into your armpits.

He seems to notice your shiver and takes a step closer in response.

"Why are you on my car?"

He's close enough that you can smell his sweat, see the corners of his mouth wavering between a frown and a smile.

"'Cause I 'cided that you're takin' me home."

It's a gamble, really, but maybe he'll buy you dinner before dropping you at the closest home, and then you'll show him by escaping and coming back. Maybe you two can do the dance a thousand times before he realizes that you mean it.

"Why am I doing that?"

"'Cause I heard you take in strays, and there ain't none more unwanted than me," You tell him, shivering openly now as you wait to see his response.

Hand on your face, eyes unshielded, lips now down in a frown.

"You're freezing," Is his gruff answer. "What'll you do if I take you somewhere warm, where I know the people running the place?"

"Don't care. I'm goin' with you or I'm sittin' out here. Gonna take a long nice nap and maybe not wake up. Nobody'd care."

Hands under your armpits, and he's lifting you up. You can hear the tire hitting the ground, as he cradles your body to his chest. It's damned uncomfortable, but you're shivering too hard to care. The car slides open, and he jumps in, one-handed, barely jostling you at all.

"Why do you think I need some kid running around underfoot?" He asks, as he closes the top with a button, and cranks the heat on full blast.

He puts you in the passenger seat, and then reaches back and pulls his cape off.

Your eyebrows go way up as he wraps its weighted length around you.

"'Cause I can work harder than any kid you've ever seen," You tell him through chattering teeth. "You can do whatever you want to me, and I'll take it, but-but if you try to put your thing in me, I'll slice off your balls."

His laugh is a grim surprising thing, and you don't know what to do with it.

"If I ever tried to do that to _any_ kid," His face is a full scowl. "I'll save you the trouble and do it myself."

He pulls out of your alleyway and heads on the road east.


End file.
